Chapter 2

Violet opened her eyes and blinked.

The last time she had been lying on her back she’d been staring up into the dark sky with snow and ice daggers falling on her. Now, there were no cold pellets, biting breezes, or ominous clouds but the expanse above showed an unfamiliar shade of ecru.

Where in heaven could she be?

Then it hit her. Maybe this was Heaven.

But if she were dead, where were the angels? Saint Peter? God?

Where was Jasper? Surely if she had died and gone to the hereafter, her betrothed would meet her and welcome her in, wouldn’t he? Granted, they had scarcely known each other before she agreed to the engagement but still—wouldn’t he be obligated to greet her when she arrived in paradise? Surely, he would.

Unless she wasn’t in Heaven.

Perhaps she had taken a detour.

After all, she had agreed to marry Jasper Abraham under false pretenses. That must be a solid strike against her.

And there had been all those times she had had jealous thoughts regarding her eldest sister. It wouldn’t matter to God that Lily took pleasure in bragging to the rest of her siblings about her social popularity, witty conversational skills, or favor with Father and Mother. No, God would not think jealousy warranted, under any circumstances. Another strike—or several if one counted each individual instance—then.

Duly noted in the Book of Good and Evil (because there surely must be one—otherwise how could their actions ever be tallied?) there were dozens of minor-but-still-less-than-kind acts or uncharitable opinions listed against her. How many damning red marks would there be? No way for a mortal to know.

Not even if they were no longer mortal.

That was it, then. She must be dead.

Violet pushed herself to a sitting position, noting as she did that beds in the afterlife were soft and quilts warm.

Her heart faltered in her chest. Of course, they were.

Everything here was warm!

She looked down at herself. She wasn’t a specter or an unseemly swath of fog. Her mortal form had accompanied her on her journey. Gratitude swept over her. It would not do to float about in an undignified cloud, as she had always imagined heavenly beings must do.

But she wasn’t in Heaven.

A bead of perspiration slid from beneath the hair at the nape of her neck and traveled down her spine. Perhaps cloud beings were not sturdy enough for whatever awaited them in this place. They might need solid forms to perform their duties—the duties that would be theirs for eternity.

She had never shoveled coal before. Not on a significant scale, anyhow. Scoops from coal shuttle to fireplace mustn’t count as actual coal shoveling—at least she didn’t think it would. Seven lumps on a metal scoop could not be the same as shoveling for Satan.

Violet ran a shaky hand down the front of her form from collarbone to middle. The neat white shirtwaist was gone. She swished her legs about beneath the quilt. They were unencumbered, no heavy woolen stockings or skirt layers to impede movement.

She shouldn’t be dead. How could she be dead when she was charged with planning the town’s biggest winter event? The Christmas party wasn’t going to happen at all now, not with her demise. Disappointing everyone by depriving them of holiday fun must add marks against her in the Book of Good and Evil. Maybe those were the marks that sent her to Hell.

How many people lived in Wylder? Whatever the tally, if each resident’s disappointment counted against her, that would surely tip the scales in favor of her receiving a shovel instead of angel wings.

She tried moistening her lips, but her tongue was hot and dry, and stuck to the lower corner of her mouth.

She blinked. She should be crying, for goodness sake! But there were no tears from her burning eyes.

Her mind scrambled to discern the truth, but her skin was oh, so hot.

She remembered being cold. Horribly frozen. Icier than she had ever been—and unable to feel most of her body while her mind faded into nothingness.

It was death, that nothingness.

She was dead.

A sudden wave of heat crashed over her. She closed her eyes and groaned.

“I’m in Hell!”

She turned her head toward the sound of an opening door. It was almost impossible to focus with eyes that felt filled with sand.

A form entered and moved to the foot of the bed. She blinked, wondering what tomfoolery this was. Minions were supposed to be horned and hooved, not tall and handsome!

“Are you the devil?” A whisper. She fell back against the bedding when it became too exhausting to remain upright.

The man placed a tray on the bedside table. He bent over her, and a vaguely familiar scent swept up her nostrils and into her too-hot head.

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but this is a first.”

She closed her eyes to avoid the searing pain. “Satan?”

“Not today, ma’am.”